Stalking the Dead

by E. C. Bell

  I never did. Even after I beat him half to death and left home, he still called me idiot.

  Who knows? Maybe he was right.

  Once I figured out I couldn’t get out of that apartment, I sat down and had a good think about how I was going to get Marie back. It looked like I had two choices. Either Asshole Lavall had to disappear, or Marie had to be brought back on my side.

  I figured that bringing Marie around was probably going to be the easier way to handle the whole situation, since I couldn’t touch anything, and so had no idea how to eliminate Lavall. However, I had done some pretty heinous stuff to Marie and she’d always forgiven me, right up to the end, so I figured I just needed a little more one on one time with her, and I could make the magic happen again. Then, she’d be happy to let me stay with her—ride her—until she died, and then we could be together forever.

  Just like Laurel and Roy.

  True, Laurel hadn’t actually looked that happy to see Roy when he showed up at old lady Jenner’s trailer, but I didn't care. I could make it all work better than Roy could. I was sure of it.

  I just needed to learn how to hold on to her—to ride her until she came around to my way of thinking. Which meant I needed someone to practice on until I figured how to get to that trailer, where Marie was.

  Maybe I’d practice on Rosalie, when she got home.

  Then I remembered that Rosalie hadn’t been back to the apartment yet. Not since I’d had my head bashed in.

  Jesus, what if she didn’t ever come back? What if she sold the place, leaving all of her stuff? What if I was stuck here, forever, with no way out?

  That put my mood right in the toilet.

  Marie:

  Riling the Neighbours,

  Like I Have Nothing Better to Do

  I STOOD OUTSIDE Mom’s blood red door and thought for a long time before I got the courage to walk in.

  Much had happened since I’d had my little talk with Dad. It almost felt like it had happened a week and not just a few hours earlier. They had been some pretty exciting hours, no doubt about it.

  Arnie had found me. Somehow. Luckily, Mom had sent him off, and it looked like she could handle him, so that was something. Maybe being dead made him easier to handle.

  I doubted it.

  James was back at the cop shop, being interrogated by Officer Tyler. Again. That was not a good sign. Not at all.

  And, there was all that information Dad had given me, at the Peter Pond Bar. Either he was lying, or Mom was.

  “Just go in, and find out,” I said, my hand on the door knob.

  “You talkin’ to me?” somebody called from the next yard. Mother’s neighbours were sitting on their deck. Trailer folk could be a fairly transient lot, so I didn’t recognize either the man or the woman. They both smiled and raised their beers in a more than friendly hello.

  I smiled back. No need to pick a fight. No room on my plate. “I was just talking to myself,” I said.

  “Ah,” said the man. “So, you’re crazy, like your mother.”

  The woman cackled her agreement, so I threw caution to the wind and gave them both the finger before I walked inside Mom’s trailer. I heard their screeches of outrage as I shut the door.

  “Sorry, Mom,” I said. “I think I might have made a couple of enemies next door.”

  Mom was still sitting at the table, drinking tea. “That’s all right,” she said. “I don’t much like them. They put out the worst Christmas decorations you’ve ever seen. Ever.”

  I’d seen what passed for Christmas decorating in that trailer park. I wondered, briefly, what they could possibly put up that would be considered bad, then pushed the thought aside. I had other fish to fry.

  “Where’s Laurel?” I asked. The living room was empty, but I didn’t want her walking into the middle of the conversation we were about to have.

  “She’s out,” Mom said shortly. “She said she needed some air.”

  “Good.” I pulled out the chair opposite hers, and sat. “We need to talk.”

  “Yes, we do,” Mom said.

  “About Dad.” I grabbed a cup and poured myself some of the cold tea.

  “No,” she said. She held out her cup, so I poured her some. “First, we talk about Arnie.”

  “Mom,” I started, but she held up her hand for silence and shook her head.

  “No,” she said again. “We talk about Arnie, first. You have to get control of this situation, immediately.”

  I took a deep breath, in and out, and sipped the cold tea. If I tried to ram my own agenda through, I’d never get anything out of her. So I decided, fine. Let’s start with Arnie and work down to Dad.

  I waited, but Mom didn’t say anything. Just stirred brown sugar into her tea. Tink tink tink, until I thought I’d lose my mind.

  “Please, Mom.”

  “I’m waiting for you, girl.” Tink tink tink. “You must have some questions.”

  “How did he find me?”

  “Roy brought him. Carried him here.” Mom shrugged. “I’ve never seen that done before.”

  That surprised me. I thought she’d seen it all.

  “Great,” I said. “Just great. Do you think he’ll come back?”

  “Maybe.”

  Not helping, Mom.

  “One other thing,” Mom said. “About Arnie. When you’re working with him, you must remember that you can’t trust him.”

  Tell me something I don’t know.

  “But you still have to move him on,” Mom continued. “So, don’t provoke him.”

  She managed to push a great big button, when she said that. That was what everybody said to me about Arnie, when I was trying to deal with him and all his shit. “Just don’t provoke him,” they’d say. “You know how he is.”

  Excitable. A bit of a drinker. Overwrought. Lived a hard life.

  “I think this is exactly the time to provoke him,” I said, my voice like acid, dripping sudden rage all over everything, including my mother. “He has to understand just how hated he was, Mom.”

  “It won’t help,” Mom said.

  “It’ll help me,” I replied.

  “No, it won’t. You need to be rational when you’re dealing with him, Marie. This goes past him simply attaching to you. He’ll get stronger, more in control of his situation, and it could get dangerous. You do understand that, don’t you?”

  “I understand,” I said. I just didn’t care. I blew out a quick breath and tried to calm myself. Yelling at Mom would do no good. I needed to hear her out.

  “He lied to Roy,” Mom said. “He told Roy that I had a hand in his death. Which I didn’t. Of course.”

  I frowned. “Arnie told Roy that you and James killed him?”

  “Apparently. I believe he lied about me to frighten Roy into bringing him here. To you.”

  “If he lied about you, that means he lied about James, too. Right?”

  Mom shrugged, and my heart tightened. “Arnie looked like he believed he was telling the truth about James.”

  “Does that mean that James did it?” I shook my head, and felt like crying. This day just got worse and worse. “Man, I sure can pick them, can’t I?”

  “Oh, James had nothing to do with Arnie’s death,” Mom said. “He was here, in this trailer, all night.”

  “But you said—”

  “That Arnie believed he was telling the truth. Yes.”

  I shook my head, confused. “So, how can he be telling the truth about James, if James didn’t kill him? That doesn’t make sense.”

  “I said Arnie believes he’s telling the truth,” Mom said. “That’s a different thing than having proof, now isn’t it?”

  “And you’re sure James is innocent?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because he was here all night?”

  “Yes.” I could hear a hint of impatience in her voice. “What’s the problem?”

  “I’ll bet you weren’t awake the whole night though, were you? James could have snuck out without
you knowing. Couldn’t he?”

  “No,” Mom said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because of the dog,” Mom said. “She only leaves my side when someone opens the front door. And she didn’t move at all, that night.”

  “Huh.” That seemed logical, but I knew James could be sneaky, if he wanted to be. “What if he—”

  “He didn’t leave this house!” Mom cried. “What’s wrong with you?”

  That stung. “Nothing.”

  “Well, maybe you need to learn a little trust,” Mom said, snippily. “He’s a good man. He didn’t kill Arnie.”

  I sighed. “I don’t have the best luck when it comes to picking men, Mom. Remember, Arnie?”

  “Yes.”

  “Stalkery ex-boyfriend?”

  “I know.”

  “Well, how can I be sure James isn’t as bad as Arnie? Or worse? That would be my luck, now wouldn’t it?”

  It was almost a relief to confess this to Mom, even though saying it out loud made me feel worse, not better.

  It didn’t help when Mom stared at me, her face pinched. “Just because you made one bad choice when it came to men doesn’t mean it will happen again,” she said. “If you can’t trust yourself, then trust me. James is a good man.”

  That made me laugh.

  “Come on, Mom,” I said. “How can I trust your judgement about men? You picked Dad, for heaven’s sake.”

  She frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “Dad left you with two kids to raise,” I said. I tried to keep my voice all cool, calm, and collected, and failed miserably. “He never even tried to get our family back together. And then, you got sick again and he pulled the financial pins out from under you. When I called him on it today, he tried to tell me that it was your fault.”

  My throat tightened, and I fought sudden tears. “He’s a monster, Mom. And you picked him. You know?”

  My voice shuddered to a stop, and I buried my face in my cold cup of tea. I wished I’d been less emotional, but damn! She had to admit he’d been a bad choice. A terrible choice—

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” My mother’s voice was ice. “Your father was there for all of us. Even for you, until you left town.”

  “No he wasn’t,” I said sharply. “We couldn’t even be in the same room together—”

  “That doesn’t mean he wasn’t there for you,” Mom said. “Your father did what was right, until you moved away.”

  “What?”

  “When you got that job in Edmonton, I decided that your father had done enough. If I could’ve kept working, everything would have been fine. But that didn’t work out, now did it?”

  “And that’s when you started asking me for money.”

  “You had a good job,” Mom said. “I didn’t think you’d mind helping me out a little bit.”

  “I didn’t mind,” I said, even though I had minded very much. “It’s just . . . my job didn’t pay quite as well as I let on.”

  It was Mom’s turn to look confused. “What?”

  “It was a little tougher to make ends meet than I let on,” I said.

  “So, you lied to me?”

  I glanced over the rim of the cup at her. “I guess. I just didn’t want you to worry. You had enough—”

  “You let me be a burden on you, instead.” Her eyes flashed, angrily. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because you’re sick,” I said. My mouth had suddenly gone so dry that my tongue felt like a slab of leather. I could barely speak. “You’re—you’re dying.”

  Mom set her tea cup down and shook her head.

  “You stupid, stupid girl,” she sighed. “Just because I’m dying doesn’t mean you get to lie to me.”

  “But—”

  “You lied to me.”

  The phone rang, and I jumped up to answer it. Anything to get away from my mother’s furious eyes.

  “Hello,” I said. My voice sounded tight and raw, and I swallowed hard, and tried again. “Hello?”

  “Hello? Can I speak to Marie Jenner, please?”

  I didn’t recognize the woman’s voice, but she sounded young. “Who’s calling?” I asked.

  “Rosalie Jacoby. I need to talk to Marie Jenner. Please. It’s important. It’s about—it’s about Arnie Stillwell.”

  I clapped my hand over the receiver and glanced over at Mom, but she was still smouldering at the kitchen table. Man, I didn’t want to talk to her anymore, but I had to.

  “Do you know a Rosalie Jacoby?” I asked.

  “Only to see, not to speak to,” Mom said. “She’s a couple of years younger than you, I think. A bit thick, but a sweet enough girl, if I remember correctly. Why?”

  “Because she’s on the phone, and she wants to talk about Arnie.”

  Mom reached her hand out for the receiver. I shook my head. “She wants to talk to me,” I said.

  “Hmm,” Mom said. “Interesting.”

  Then she pointedly turned away from me. I sighed, knowing that the conversation I’d started with her wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

  But first, I had to deal with Rosalie, whoever she was.

  “This is Marie,” I said. “You have information about Arnie Stillwell?”

  Oh, she did. She told me everything.

  Arnie:

  Girlfriend A, Meet Girlfriend B

  ROSALIE SHOWED UP, thank God. It looked like I wasn’t going to be trapped there by myself. She burst into the apartment, loaded down with buckets and sponges and industrial strength cleaners. She dropped it all on the floor and took off her coat. Then, she started cleaning.

  I was surprised. I didn’t think she had the guts to handle the mess in that bedroom, but she dove right in, humming along to some ridiculous little girl love song that was playing on the radio as she scrubbed at the mess I’d made on her mattress.

  She didn’t look upset, like I thought she would. She looked happy.

  I didn’t care how she looked. She was here, so I could start practicing holding on to the living, the way I had done with the dead.

  I sidled up behind her and reached out. Touched her, first with my hand—which went right through her arm as though it wasn’t there—and then with a light string. That worked a little better. It attached to her skin, glowing softly, and I was ready to throw another one, when Rosalie shuddered, and the light string popped free.

  “Dammit!” I cried.

  She, of course, paid no attention. Just went back to scrubbing the bloody muck off the mattress. So, I tried again.

  Got one line attached, and then two. She shuddered again and swiped at her arm, exactly where I’d attached the light strings. They both popped free, recoiling like they were spring-loaded. The rebound knocked me on the bed, and I came up swinging and yelling.

  That, of course, did no good whatsoever. Rosalie didn’t know anything. Just kept singing and scrubbing as I scrambled up behind her, once more. Really concentrated this time, and managed to get three light lines attached to her before she shuddered them off, knocking me off the bed and almost to the far wall.

  She quit singing and looked around, like she was looking for whoever kept touching her.

  And then, she did a truly strange thing. She smiled and nodded.

  “Can you hear me?” I asked, quietly, feeling kinda stupid. There was no way she could tell I was there. Could she?

  Of course, she didn’t answer. She did get off the bed, though, and strip off the heavy duty rubber gloves she was wearing. She reached for the phone sitting on the bedside table and checked it to make sure it had a charge. Then she walked out of the bedroom.

  So, I followed her. What the hell.

  She pulled out a phone book. An actual White Pages phone book. It looked old and ragged, and she flipped the pages carefully, as though she was afraid it would fall to shreds if she was any rougher.

  Found the number she was looking for and dialed. I looked at the page. She was in the Js. I nearly shit when I s
aw that her finger was pressed into the paper next to the name S. Jenner.

  Sylvie Jenner. Rosalie was calling Marie’s mom. What the hell was going on?

  “Hang up,” I said, but she didn’t. Just sat with the phone pressed to her head, her big cow eyes blinking and blinking as she waited for someone to answer.

  “Hello?” she finally said. She clutched for a chair, falling into it like she was half ready to faint. All the while she kept the receiver pressed hard against her head. “Can I speak to Marie Jenner, please?”

  Oh God. Rosalie was going to talk to Marie, and my worlds were going to crash together. Big time.

  I never wanted these two women to speak to each other about anything. Ever. I really didn’t, because there was overlap in my dating patterns ever since high school, know what I mean?

  Marie was the love of my life, right? And Rosalie was my fall back lay. If Marie gave me a hard time—or ran to her frigging mother, which she did with maddening regularity—I hung out with Rosalie. You know, until things calmed down with Marie.

  I know, made me look like a bit of jerk, but hey, Marie could be a real bitch when she wanted to. At those times I needed to be supported, and Rosalie was always there. Always. Never complained when I dropped, out of the blue, into her life, and never, ever said a word when I disappeared again.

  The only thing she really couldn’t stand was me saying Marie’s name in front of her. She called it her golden rule.

  It wasn’t like she didn’t know about Marie. I guess she thought if she was compliant enough, I’d get tired of Marie and her ways, and stay with her forever, or something.

  Wasn’t going to happen, of course. I loved Marie with all my heart and soul. Rosalie was just a distraction, while I tried to figure out a way to convince Marie to be with me for all time. And they were never supposed to meet.

  Looked like my luck was about to run out.

  “Rosalie Jacoby. I need to talk to Marie Jenner. Please. It’s important,” Rosalie said into the phone. “It’s about—it’s about Arnie Stillwell.”